Chapter Text
“Exactly one month ago today, famed CEO of KaibaCorp, Seto Kaiba, and Yugi Mutou dueled on international television for the supreme title of Battle City Champion. Now, this reporter is ecstatic to announce that yet another KaibaCorp championship has been declared. A so-called Battle City Finals rematch, Dine & Duel, a title coined by fans, will be an invite-only event next Saturday, broadcasting live on this network at 6pm sharp. This will truly be a night worth--”
The reporter's voice was abruptly silenced as the TV went black. “I thought I told you to stop watching rubbish.” Remote in hand, Bakura stood behind the couch, glowering downward at Marik.
“What are you doing? She was just getting to the good stuff!” Marik crowed, reaching for the remote, an item he had grown used to calling “the channel changer.”
Bakura evaded his attempts by simply holding it over his own head. “There's nothing good about the mass media. I'm sure they were only going to show footage from Kaiba's press release anyway.”
“That's precisely what I wanted to see! Now, give it back!” Marik launched himself over the back of the couch, catching Bakura by surprise and bringing them both down to the hardwood floor with one heavy thud .
“Marik, I assure you, Kaiba's face is nothing to be excited over—OUCH,” Marik wrenched Bakura's arm into an impossible position, struggling against his shoves and attempts to break free. “WOULD YOU QUIT THAT?”
“SAY 'UNCLE',” Marik shouted, now trying desperately to pry the channel changer from Bakura's fingers.
“WHAT? NO.”
“JUST SAY IT.”
“I'M NOT SAYING IT.”
Finally Marik jerked the remote out of Bakura's grasp and violently mashed the TV's power button before throwing it across the room to keep it out of arm's reach. He stayed in that position, straddling Bakura's chest as Kaiba's voice rang out from the television. “...And then of course, Yugi Mutou, who will be dueling against yours truly to conclude the evening.”
“Damn it, Bakura! You made me miss the invite list!”
Bakura stared up at Marik's chin, trying to distract himself from the crotch mere inches away from his face. Only a thin layer of denim separated him from Marik's junk—and that was something he couldn't afford to get excited over, especially in this precarious position. He began to flush. “Why does it matter who's invited? You know it's always the same people.”
“Well, yeah, but, like... What if we were invited?”
Bakura couldn't help letting out a barking laugh. “ We're the ones that screwed up the Battle City Tournament to begin with. We're the whole reason he's calling for a rematch—Why would he want us there at all?”
Marik slid off of Bakura's chest and got to his feet. Of course he agreed with him. It's true. If it weren't for the chaos caused by his even eviler side, the tournament would have gone exactly the way Kaiba would have wanted—mostly. Yugi would have won just as he always does, but this time it would have been without interference. Kaiba wouldn't have had any antagonists to blame for the outcome.
“Well, I mean...” Marik muttered, searching for the channel changer he had so carelessly tossed across their living room, “I've been thinking about that thing you said to me just before I came back to Domino City... About how I'm still indebted to you.”
It wasn't all that long ago. The smoke had cleared from the Battle City Tournament, Marik had returned to Egypt with his siblings, and Bakura resumed life as he had before—only this time, ‘life’ for him meant surviving without his precious Millennium Ring in the deepest corners of Ryou's mind. As difficult as it was, given time he managed to take control of Ryou's body once again, but he was without much of a place to go from there. Out of desperation, he recalled the deal he made with Marik just before the Battle City Finals, and knew he could still use it to his advantage.
“Yes, that you still owe me a shot at acquiring the Millennium Items. It's only fair that you make good on your word.” Bakura sat up, stretching the arm Marik had contorted just moments before.
Marik nodded as he finally located the remote. “Yugi has your Ring, along with a few of the other Millennium Items. And I heard the winner of next week's duel will get ownership of all three god cards.”
Bakura's eyes widened in that moment. “You're not saying we should participate, are you?”
“No! God , Bakura. Look at you, always jumping to conclusions. We're not even that good at Duel Monsters anyway.”
“Speak for yourself.” Bakura rolled his eyes.
“I was thinking we could use this opportunity to steal back the Millennium Items— and the god cards... If we were invited, that is.”
Bakura gazed at Marik from across the room, thinking over what he had said. Of course Yugi would have the Millennium Items with him--leaving them at home unguarded would leave them open for people like Bakura to snatch up. With each day that passed, Bakura could feel a growing yearning to be reunited with it. He could hear it call out to him in the night. He could feel the cold metal against his chest, as if it were still hanging from his neck, clinging to his flesh. And knowing that the pharaoh now possessed his precious artifact burned a new, passionate hatred in his cold heart.
“Marik... If we're going to steal things from Yugi, we shouldn't need an invitation. Let's just break into the bloody championship and take them.” Before he even realized it, Bakura was standing, his mouth twitched into a wicked grin, heart pounding erratically with excitement. “It's perfect. We'll wait for everything to be in one place, and we'll strike. Yugi and Kaiba will be too busy shouting quips at each other to notice us making off with the prizes.”
Across the room, Marik tapped his foot. “Okay, but, they're not going to just let us in. It would be way easier if we were already inside before the event starts.”
Bakura mused that over. He admittedly knew nothing of KaibaCorp's layout, and would probably spend more time getting lost than doing anything productive. Kaiba and his employees were no doubt the only people that knew anything about navigating the building, its security systems, and the best places to hide. He massaged his temples, eyes locked on Marik, who still stood in the same place at the far wall, distracted by the TV options on the remote.
“Haha! Look, Bakura! With this button I can make Kaiba look like he's in the wild west! It's what he's always wanted, probably!” Marik switched the setting back and forth from normal to sepia tone.
“Marik, stop screwing around,” Bakura huffed. “I think I have an idea.”
Marik looked over his shoulder. “This better be a good one because Golden Girls is coming on in three minutes and it's the one where they seductively lay across the piano at the bar and sing to all the men. It's highly relatable.”
“We should work for KaibaCorp.”
“What.” Marik cocked an eyebrow. “Of all your silly ideas, Bakura, this one takes the cake. I don't think any sane human being would want to work for Kaiba. Didn't you see him on the blimp? Joey was, like, dead and he was all 'Nope, the duel's still on, let's see who stands up first.'”
Bakura ignored Marik's comment. “You said it yourself, it would be easier if we were there, poised for the attack before the duel begins. And no one knows the KaibaCorp building better than its employees. Just think, if we can infiltrate the company under the guise of two regular employees, we could scope out the area and plan everything out from there.”
“Kaiba wouldn't hire us in a million years!” Marik replied suddenly. “My resume looks terrible. I had Odion put it together for me and he used the friggin Papyrus font.”
“I don't plan on interviewing for the position, Marik. We're just going to take the damned job.”
“Ohhh, so we're just going to steal that, too. Okay.”
Bakura nodded while taking a seat on the couch, still in a frenzy at the prospect of finally taking back what was his, along with the god cards. This was the lead he'd been looking for since he returned from Battle City, frayed and helpless. It was a long shot, but at this point, it would have to do. The pharaoh wouldn't even know what hit him. He took a seat on the couch, trying not to look at Marik's ass as he passed and sat down beside him.
Marik switched the TV back to its normal color settings and rapidly flipped through the channels. “Okay, Bakura, don't interrupt me this time. I only get to hear the Golden Girls theme song once a night, and I think I finally have all the words memorized.”
Bakura inhaled, relaxing into the sofa cushion behind him. If his mind weren't in other places, he would have taken his leave at that moment, sparing himself the torture of listening to Marik sing along to Thank You For Being a Friend at full volume, all the while using the channel changer as a microphone. But, that night he chose to let him have his fun, watching in amusement from his side of the couch.
**
Just as the clock above the television struck half past three in the morning, Bakura's eyes cracked open, fresh from a dream he could hardly recall. All he knew was that the friendly feeling of impending doom helplessly gripped at the edges of his unconsciousness, a leftover feeling from his forgotten nightly visions.
“Nnhhh... Bakura...”
His eyes snapped in the direction of Marik's sleepy voice and he was surprised to find himself slouched against his roommate's shoulder, arm lazily draped across Marik's body. A tiny pool of Bakura's own drool tinged Marik's sleeve where his head had rested seconds prior. He felt heat flood into his face, but it settled when he noticed Marik's eyes were still closed, face peaceful.
The TV was running an early morning infomercial about kitchen utensils. Bakura didn't care much for television of any kind, but Marik insisted upon moving in that they get one. It was a blessing and a curse wrapped into one; it kept Marik busy and entertained, yet it was rarely ever turned off, or at any kind of normal volume. Even on days that they weren't home, he would return to find it having been left on all day, blaring so loudly it was audible down the hall. In the early mornings he would find Marik curled up in front of it, sleeping soundly amidst all the noise.
Bakura brushed a single hand through his fluffy white mane, glancing over at Marik and trying not to pay attention to the saliva he'd dribbled onto his shirt. He looked to his own hands and wished he had left them where they were; across Marik's midriff. Being as frustrated as he was, it was the little victories that eased his lustful mind; accidental physical contact, close encounters, Marik's frequent half-nudity. It was all nauseatingly tantalizing to him. Bakura could feel a stirring in his pants as he thought about it.
“Bakura... Stop ruining Golden Girls....”
Bakura cocked an eyebrow at his sleeping roommate. He wished so badly to know what went on in that mind of his. Did Marik's dreams of Bakura ever get as scandalous as Bakura's daytime fantasies of Marik? Curious as he was to see how he looked in Marik's dreams, he had a feeling he was better off not knowing.
Bakura bit his own lip to curve his thoughts away from where they were going. He stood from the couch and turned the TV off, finding a blanket to lay across Marik's sleeping form. After flicking the rest of the lights off, he made his way down the short hallway to the right of the living room and dropped onto his own bed, allowing his dark dreams to find him once more. This time he hoped for dreams of victory over the pharaoh, for come morning time he planned to set their idea into motion, and he knew there would be no looking back at that point.
However, what felt like mere moments later, Marik's shrill voice called out from the kitchen, the sound of the Morning News jingle adding insult to injury. “Ohhh Bakura! Wakey wakey! I've made breakfaaast!”
“So that's what that burning stench is,” Bakura muttered darkly into his pillow, wishing sleep would take him back.
Marik's voice drew nearer. “Do you want water or orange juice?”
“Tea is fine, Marik.”
“It's funny because you're British!” This time Bakura could tell Marik was poking his head through the cracked door.
Bakura gritted his teeth and tugged the covers up over his head. “ Water is fine, then.”
“Ohh, Bakura. Don't be a stick in the mud. I'll make you tea... I'll just need you to show me how to do that.”
“I'll make it myself, then.”
When silence followed, Bakura poked an eye out from the space between his comforter and pillow, and was met with Marik's stare, no more than a few inches from his. Instinctively, he propelled himself backward out of surprise. “What in the bloody hell are you doing?”
Marik, sporting his favorite Kiss the Co*k apron (a happy morning rooster adorning the front), laughed loudly at Bakura's reaction. “It's funny because you said another British thing!”
“Piss off.”
Just as Marik opened his mouth to respond, the smoke alarm pierced through their small quarters, echoing in Bakura's skull and causing Marik to spring backward in surprise. His head jerked back and forth between the hallway and Bakura, unsure of how to respond or what could be causing the sound. Suddenly, a grave look settled on his face. “I forgot about the biscuits.”
“Don't just stand here!” Bakura shouted, hands clasped to his ears. “Go get them out of the oven!”
Marik scurried out into the kitchen, yelling words Bakura couldn't make out over the sound of the alarm. He rose from his bed and peeked out into the hallway, deeply sighing when he noticed the cloudy texture to the air near the ceiling. As Marik tended to his burnt biscuits, Bakura grabbed a kitchen towel and fanned the nearest smoke detector, wincing against the piercing chirps until they finally ceased. He shot an icy glare over his shoulder at Marik, who dejectedly looked over the tray of blackened breakfast pastries.
“Well, that was quite the wake-up call,” Bakura remarked sarcastically, rubbing away the crust at the corners of his eyes.
“Sorry” was all Marik said in response, his voice taking on a tone that made Bakura's stomach tighten and his heart feel heavier than normal—a physical reaction Bakura was unfamiliar with. He dropped his shoulders and paced into the kitchen, wincing when he noticed just how burned the biscuits turned out. The smell made him feel dizzy.
“I-It's really not that big of a deal. You can just pick the charred parts off,” Bakura said as he prodded the blackened rounds, but they were hard as rocks. He swallowed, glancing to Marik, who held an intense expression. He considered taking a bite, but stopped himself. It shouldn't have mattered that much to him, and he didn't want Marik to think he was going soft. “... Or we can go out to breakfast.”
Marik's eyes lit up. “I was hoping you'd say that because I don't even like cooking--too many numbers.”
“Yes, let's not make it more complicated than it needs to be,” Bakura replied, feeling like he had defused a bomb in the time since he woke up. “Allow me to freshen up and we'll go out.”
“Good idea. I didn't want to mention it but your butt crack has been very distracting,” Marik stated, tossing the biscuits one by one into the trash.
Bakura stopped mid-stride, pulled his sweatpants up and sleep shirt down, and then proceeded down the hall, face red and mind flustered.